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In Quiet Waters 



Reminiscent Tales 
Of a Humble Angler 



BY 



DR. FRANK MACKIE JOHNSON 

INTRODUCTION BY 

DR. JAMES A. HENSr-IALL 

Author of the "Book of the Black Bass," etc. 



iTEWART ft KIPD 




CINCINNATI, U, i. A. 



CINCINNATI 

STEWART KIDD COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 




.37 



Copyright, 1921 
STEWART KIDD COMPANY 



All Rights Reserved 
Copyright in England 



JUN 15 1921 
©GIA617835 






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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 5 

Preface 1 1 

A String of Sunfish 13 

Tail First 15 

Planking Poachers 21 

A Day of Daze 29 

Pioneers of the Forest 37 

A Novel Lure 43 

White Perch de Luxe 49 

Where Chasms Frown 54 

Frolics of the Silver Kings 63 

Sulking Samsons 68 

The Togue's Remarks 73 

Artful Antagonists 75 

A Wish as Twilight Falls 82 

When Storms Raged 85 

Above and Below 90 

Surprises 95 

An Indian Legend 102 

The Close of Day 108 



INTRODUCTION 

Fishes are the oldest of the vertebrate 
animals, the first to be evolved in the scheme 
of creation; and Angling is as old as the 
eternal hills. The fish-hook is mentioned in / 
several books of the Old Testament, and 
fish-hooks of bone, shell, stone, and bronze 
are found in the deposits of prehistoric ages. 

The first book on Angling was written by 
an English woman of noble birth, Dame 
Juliana Berners, whose father was beheaded 
in 1388. She was Prioress of Sopwell Nun- 
nery, near St. Albans, England. She was 
author of treatises on Hunting, Hawking, 
and Angling. The latter treatise was en- 
titled "Fisshynge With An Angle," and was 
printed, a folio edition, in London, in 1496. 
This, it will be remembered, is more than 
four hundred years ago, and a dozen genera- 
tions of Anglers have since risen up to call 
her blessed. 

In her treatise on Angling she gave ex- 
plicit directions for making rods, lines, hooks, 
sinkers, and floats, and gave the formulas 

5 



INTRODUCTION 

and dressings, and named the materials for 
the construction of twelve artificial flies, 
imitations of natural insects that frequented 
the streams during the summer months, to 
be used for trout and grayling. These flies, 
with slight modifications, are in use to-day, 
and some of them, doubtless, were em- 
ployed by the "Humble Angler" when on 
some of his outings, as recounted in his 
"Reminiscent Tales." 

The next book on Angling to appear was 
the "Booke of Fishing With Hooke and 
Line," by Leonard Mascall, 4to, London, 
1600. Next in chronological sequence was 
the "Art of Angling," by Thomas Barker, 
i2mo, London, 1651. Neither of these books 
survived beyond one or two editions. Then 
came the "Compleat Angler" or the "Con- 
templative Man's Recreation," by Izaak 
Walton, London, 1653, which has become 
the classic of angling literature. 

There have been more than a hundred edi- 
tions of the "Compleat Angler," edited, an- 
notated, and published by various persons 
since Walton's time. And likewise there 
have been books and books on Angling, good, 
bad, and indifferent, published on both sides 
of the Atlantic, and all of them have been 
6 



INTRODUCTION 

modeled, more or less, on "Fisshynge With 
An Angle" or the "Compleat Angler." 

The most superb work on Angling ever 
issued from the press is "Forest, Lake, and 
River," treating of the fishes of "New Eng- 
land and Eastern Canada." This sumptu- 
ous work is in two royal octavo, de luxe 
volumes, bound in embossed vellum and 
satin, with nearly a hundred full-page col- 
ored plates and black and white illustra- 
tions, and with a portfolio of twelve life- 
size game-fishes, two by three feet, repro- 
duced from oil paintings by A. D. Turner. 
This unique and remarkable work is by 
Frank Mackie Johnson, M.D., the author of 
these unpretentious "Reminiscent Tales." 

While Dr. Johnson's recherche volumes 
are suitable only for the angler's bookcase 
or his library table, his modest book of fish- 
ing sketches is intended more for the pocket 
of his fishing jacket, to be read and browsed 
over, while smoking his post-prandial pipe, 
after the mid-day luncheon on the bank of 
the stream; or when in his den on a winter 
night, in slippered feet, to follow the "Humble 
Angler" in his wanderings by lake and stream 
in search of sport and adventure. 

The dominant note in this symphony of 

7 



INTRODUCTION 

the woods and waters is the love and lure 
of Angling, pure and simple, and in ac- 
cordance with the spirit of true sportsman- 
ship with all that it implies. We follow the 
"Humble Angler" from the rock-bound 
waters of Newfoundland to the sunny 
lagoon of Florida; from sunrise on the At- 
lantic to sunset on the Pacific; from tide- 
water to mountain pool. With the warp of 
angling he weaves the woof of personal ad- 
venture and the weft of encounters with 
pioneers, Indians, smugglers, and outlaws. 

We sit in a dory with him on an estuary 
of the New England coast fishing for the 
sturdy pollack or the gamesome white perch, 
while the snowy wings of the sea-gull flash 
in the sunshine. And then we are seated 
with him in a canoe on a limpid lake in the 
Pine Tree State, and watch his random 
casts for black bass, toward sundown, with 
the wild cry of the loon in our ears. And 
then, again, we are wading a rocky stream 
casting the tinseled lure for the ruby- 
studded brook trout, while the Halcyon 
bird springs his alarm rattle to warn the 
denizens of the waters over which he keeps 
watch and ward. 

And anon we are trolling in the depths of 
8 



INTRODUCTION 

a larger lake for the togue, or lake trout, 
who will not venture his burly but comely 
form to respond to the angler's more sports- 
manlike surface lure. And so we follow our 
brother angler and behold the mighty leap 
of the tarpon; or the more graceful curve of 
the salmon as he bounds from the silent and 
swift water; and then to the tumbling 
streams of the Golden West to tempt the 
crimson-banded rainbow trout, or the salmon- 
like steelhead with seductive and attractive 
bits of silk and feathers, called by courtesy, 
any. 

And so, in these stray leaves from the 
"Humble Angler's" book of memory, we 
follow him through sunshine and storm, by 
day and night, by tumbling brooks and wide 
waters, by surging streams and sequestered 
pools in quest of his quarry. And we share 
with him the hopeful anticipation and con- 
fident expectation for the fruition of exu- 
berant success; or sympathize with him in 
failure of the fish to respond to his cast, or 
to break away, or in other vicissitudes that 
go to make up that delightful uncertainty 
that is the chief incentive and pleasure of 
the angler's life. 

And then at the "Close of Day," with a 

9 



INTRODUCTION 

hearty hand clasp we bid him au revoir with 
wishes for better luck on the morrow, and 
commend him to the cheerful, inspiring and 
comforting words of our Mother Superior, 
good Dame Juliana Berners, in her exordium 
to the angler: 

"But if any fish break away after that he 
is on the hook; or else that he catch nought; 
or that there be nought in the water; yet at 
least he hath his wholesome walk, and the 
sweet air of the mead flowers that maketh 
him hungry." 

James Alexander Henshall. 

Cincinnati, Ohio, 
March, 1921. 



IO 



PREFACE 

If old but never-to-be-forgotten memories 
can be reawakened in the heart of those 
who read these pages, and if for the moment 
all cares be cast aside, I shall rest content. 

If the perusal takes you back to the days 
when you lived close to nature, the aim 
will have been fulfilled. 

Had it not been for the kindness of my 
preceptor and friend, Doctor James A. Hen- 
shall, who wrote the introduction and en- 
couraged me in my task, my own courage 
would have ebbed. 

Had I not, in a rash moment, almost 
promised some of the members of the 
Explorers' Club, that some day I would at- 
tempt something of the sort; had I not 
listened to most delightful reminiscent ex- 
periences at the Canadian Camp dinners; 
had it not been for the enjoyable and in- 
spiring hours passed in the happy compan- 
ionship of Mr. Isaac B. Hosford, Mr. Herbert 
Pomeroy Brown, and Dr. Charles R. 
II 



PREFACE 

Fletcher, all of New York, and Mr. William 
B. Abbott, of Wilton, N. H., I doubt greatly 
if this booklet would have seen the light of 
day. 

To all of these good people I wish to em- 
phasize the pleasure their comradeship has 
bestowed, and to them this volume is en- 
dearingly inscribed. 

Frank Mackie Johnson. 

Boston, Massachusetts, 
January, 1921. 



12 



The String of Sunfish 

Let me dream once more of childhood, 
When, a truant from the school, 

I went roaming through the wildwood, 
Searching for a shady pool. 

Where, with pole and line and pin-hook, 
Stole the golden hours away; 

Future chances risked so lightly 
For that sport of summer day. 

One poor little string of sunfish, 

Shrunk and withered soon were they; 

And sad twilight brought the feeling, 
Better had I stayed away! 

It was weary, trudging homeward; 

Luck, to reach there in good time; 
And the lie I had been planning, 

Loomed before me like a crime. 

Still, those days were sweeter, brighter, 
Than the days to come can be; 

Was it that my heart was lighter 
Or, perchance, that I was free? 

13 



REMINISCENT TALES 



Tail First 

It was a perfect day, the last one of June; 
the cool and bracing air quivered in the 
glorious sunshine that glistened o'er wood- 
land and waters. Breezes stirred into ripples 
the surface of the deep, silent river as it 
flowed through the Canadian forests in its 
course toward the sea. Bordered on either 
hand by giant cliffs, sublime in their dignity, 
this magnificent stream might well have 
been the harbinger of some exalted monarch 
whom Nature had empowered to reign. 

Such a scene held the observer entranced. 
The vast gorge appeared so steep it evoked 
fear; its height seemingly pierced the zone 
of brilliant blue, while at its base the deep 
gliding waters were as black as night. 
Mystery had hovered in the very atmosphere 
of this realm of woodland until its influence 
had become dominant. 

Reaching this spot had entailed a long, 
hard tramp and the preceding night had 
been unseasonably cold, a meager tent fur- 
nishing but scant shelter and warmth to the 

15 



REMINISCENT TALES 

Angler and his companion. However, all 
discomfort was speedily forgotten, — even the 
sliding-down, falling-down and rolling-down 
by which the bottom of the ravine was 
reached. No pathway had ever existed but 
the wayfarers did their bests to supply the 
need, and surely enough boulders, rocks, 
and stones were started on their downward 
course to have provided sufficient material 
for the erection of a Hall of Fame had incli- 
nation and time justified the undertaking. 

Eugene McCarthy, author of "Familiar 
Fish," was the humble Angler's companion, 
A fine chap and a keen sportsman was he. 
McCarthy knew a lot about fishing, flies, 
fire-water, and a host of other things. 

On this particular day the third pool, as 
it was called, was chosen. It was unique in 
its way. The river turned rather abruptly 
and gradually widened for some distance, 
then formed a broad and deep basin before 
sweeping its unbroken waters over a natural 
dam. This flowing was so even it was diffi- 
cult to realize that the barrier had not been 
constructed by the hand of man. Within 
the confines of this basin many ouananiche 
or "little leapers" lurked and waited. 

Just over the dam the descent was rugged 
16 



TAIL FIRST 

and the river-bed somewhat choked with 
boulders and rocks. All about these foam- 
ing waters crashed and eddied, transforming 
themselves into active miniature rapids, 
then becoming quiet again as they passed 
the foot of the decline. 

Rocks of all sizes were huddled together 
on either shore for a hundred feet or so, then 
broad strips of glistening white sand stretched 
themselves languidly in the June sunshine 
and in turn verging into meadows of waving 
green. 

Just at the edge of the basin and near the 
bank a large flat rock showed above the 
surface. It was not easy of access and pro- 
vided just standing space for one person, 
but it was an excellent place for casting, 
having no bush growth or trees nearby. 
Both fishermen used five-ounce split-bamboo 
rods, selecting the McCarthy and Montreal 
flies. 

McCarthy had the first turn. His cast 
was a beautiful one and a fair-sized fish 
struck sharply. An interesting battle en- 
sued and needless to say, the salmon was 
played and landed in perfect form. Then 
McCarthy rested and in turn watched the 
Angler try his skill. 

17 



REMINISCENT TALES 

A five-pounder rose smartly, courteously 
taking the McCarthy fly. The captive made 
a mad, sharp rush directly upstream but 
without avail, for he was soon conquered and 
landed. 

Late in the afternoon the Angler made his 
last cast. It was a long one nearly reaching 
the edge of the dam. The flash, leap, and 
powerful rush of a frightened fish came as a 
surprise. The Angler was scared and quite 
convinced that the biggest fish in this won- 
derful stream had accepted his challenge. 
A vindictive, maddened dash caused the 
reel to shriek a war-cry as the speeding line 
lessened its windings. 

As the fish went over the dam the Angler 
yelled to McCarthy and jumped to another 
rock. McCarthy offered no assistance but 
began to laugh, while the Humble Angler 
kept on jumping as best he could. 

In those days, it can be truly said, the 
Angler did resemble a fat chamois leaping 
from crag to crag; while to-day, alas and 
alack! it would be far less difficult for him 
to leap from jag to jag, if the laws of the 
land did not prohibit indulgence in alcoholic 
exercise. Had Doug. Fairbanks been present 
the demon of jealousy would have embit- 
18 



TAIL FIRST 

tered his existence for he would have had 
nothing on the Humble Angler, — except his 
salary. 

He was too busy to stop and laugh at 
himself even if he had had the inclination. 
Not so with McCarthy, who loudly whooped 
his enjoyment. Later he fully explained 
just how funny it was. He may have been 
right. Of this the Angler was no judge, 
but he did know that later there appeared 
on various parts of his anatomy more black 
and blue spots than ever adorned a coach 
dog. 

The fleeing salmon did not allow time for 
even a cuss word by way of relief. The 
Angler lost his hat, his footing, his temper, 
and his breath, but managed to retain rod 
and honor. 

There is no record of just how long this 
acrobatic performance lasted. Judging by 
his feelings and condition it might have been 
weeks rather than minutes. As the shining 
sands extended a welcome, glancing back- 
ward he fancied some of those ghostly rocks 
were grinning their mockery. 

At last the aerial voyage was over. The 
rod was in his hand; the reel was on the rod; 
the line attached to the reel, the leader to 

19 



REMINISCENT TALES 

the line, and the fly to the leader. The 
whale and the fly were coupled, so he held 
his peace. 

Somehow that mammoth aquatic animal 
had shrunk to an alarming degree by the 
time he was landed, for when weighed he 
was a scant two pounds. Perhaps violent 
exercise had reduced his weight. He seemed 
to be in prime condition though out of 
breath and somewhat annoyed that the 
hook was firmly embedded in his tail. 

Exhausted, the Humble Angler rested on 
the sands while golden sunlight and the 
whisper of waters brought tranquillity. He 
was at a loss to understand why McCarthy 
and the guide were so greatly amused and 
why they persisted in slapping him on the 
back just when he was beginning to breathe 
normally again. He willingly admitted that 
catching a salmon through the tail could 
hardly be looked upon as perfectly good 
form but insisted that this leaper had been 
honestly brought to the kill. 

The tail's tale has been told and in the 
memorabilia of piscatorial experiences it has 
been accorded rightful recognition. 



20 



Planking Poachers 

Several years ago it was the good fortune 
of the Humble Angler to meet a gentleman 
who proved himself to be not only a fine 
fellow but a true sportsman in the highest 
sense of the word. 

Both being greatly interested in all mat- 
ters pertaining to fish culture and other pis- 
catorial subjects, their acquaintance ripened 
rapidly, and when they parted this new- 
found friend extended a cordial invitation to 
the Angler to visit him at his New Bruns- 
wick home. This invitation was accepted 
and within a fortnight the Angler became 
a guest at Hallworthy Manor. 

In an after-dinner chat the host informed 
his guest that he knew of a most excellent 
salmon river, owned by a few friends of his, 
and expressed his regret that they had not 
met earlier in the season, for at that time 
both of them could have tried their expert- 
ness on this stream. Major Barnes, barrister, 
was a modest man for it was later learned 
that, although a few friends were associated 
21 



REMINISCENT TALES 

with him, he really owned most of the camps 
and water-rights himself. 

Perhaps he saw the look of disappointment 
his guest could not conceal; anyway, after a 
moment's pause he continued: "Listen, my 
dear chap; you know much about fish and 
their habits. Will you arrange to take a 
trip with any friend you care to invite and 
visit the head-waters of our river? 

"There is a saw-mill near the source and 
I want your opinion if its existence means 
danger or disease to the salmon. I have 
been informed that sawdust is detrimental 
to fish life if there is much of it in the waters, 
but know little of such matters myself. If 
it were possible I should be delighted to go 
along with you but at this time it is im- 
perative that I remain here. Everything 
you need will be supplied. Capture speci- 
mens enough, even though it is late in the 
season, so that you can be absolutely sure 
of their condition. Will you do me this 
favor, and when will you be ready?" 

Surprised and gratified, the Angler ex- 
pressed his appreciation of the courtesies ex- 
tended, stating that two days would give 
ample time in which to complete necessary 
arrangements. A handshake and a wee 
22 



PLANKING POACHERS 

nippie sealed the compact. A merry twinkle 
in the eyes of his host escaped the Angler's 
detection. 

A telegram was immediately dispatched 
to an old friend asking him to leave at once 
for Pleasantdale; and the happy Angler de- 
parted very certain that at this little hamlet 
some word would be waiting. 

An attractive place this small town proved 
to be and its special pride was the fact that 
it could boast of having; a hotel. There was 
a huge sign, on one side of which appeared 
the magic words: "Pleasantdale Hotel." 
On the other side were a few small rooms 
attached. It mattered but little that the 
rooms were tiny, the beds hard, the pillows 
microscopic, and a bath-room invisible. 
The mostly-chicory blue-black coffee was 
forgiven when a real newborn egg made its 
appearance. 

The morning was grand. The guides re- 
ported that everything was in readiness, and 
a delayed telegram stated that the Angler's 
friend would be there that evening. 

Billy arrived in Pleasantdale at 10 p. m. 
The Angler, the guides, and the townspeople 
met him at the train and escorted him to the 
hotel. 

23 



REMINISCENT TALES 

There never was a keener fly-caster than 
this same Billy. Busy man of affairs though 
he is, the call of the wild he never could resist. 

A very early start was made next morning. 
The guides were decent chaps; Gussie, who 
was tall, lank and silent, took charge of 
Billy; while Bob, shorter, thick-set, and 
profane, guided the Angler. Both paddled 
well. 

Before the main stream was reached a 
number of deer were seen either feeding or 
scurrying through the brush; whilst a large 
bear, frightened forth from a thicket, ran 
along the bank in his peculiar dog-trot. 
Civilization was being left behind. 

At noon while they rested a few trout 
were caught and cooked for lunch, and the 
journey was resumed. 

The camp was made at sunset. As the 
air had grown chilly a fire was started and 
its warmth was most welcome. Everybody 
was tired and turned in early. The whir of 
waters, the hoot of owls, and the rustle of 
leaves brought sleep and restful, soothing 
dreams. 

After a hearty breakfast at sunrise the 
canoes again headed up stream. This 
proved to be a charming river with its silent 
24 



PLANKING POACHERS 

waters flowing in sinuous curves bordered 
on either side with dense woods. Finally 
they landed at a long, narrow island that 
appeared to be surrounded by deep water. 

Here the bush growth was scanty and 
there was not a tree to be seen. At one 
end of the island short-bush blueberries 
grew in abundance, being remarkably large 
and most delicious. 

There were two good pools of about the 
same size with plenty of casting room. The 
Angler called out to his friend to take his 
choice. 

"All right, Old Man," replied Billy, 'Til 
try the starboard quarter." 

The sport that day exceeded all expecta- 
tions. Silver Gray, Jock Scott, Popham, 
and the Silver Doctor were the flies selected 
and they were all well taken. The anglers 
struck the first fish of the day at nearly the 
same moment but when landed they proved 
to be females full of spawn, so were carefully 
unhooked and restored to their river freedom. 
The guides were amazed at such a procedure 
but heartily approved nevertheless. As 
there were large numbers of fish in the 
stream it was agreed that none of the females 
should be killed. 

25 



REMINISCENT TALES 

As the afternoon waned the agreement 
had to be modified for the one grilse that 
had been kept was scarcely sufficient for 
their needs. One more fish must be killed 
regardless of gender. Luckily the Angler 
landed a large jack, so the food question was 
solved. 

After leaving the island a short paddle 
brought the party to a small but very com- 
fortable camp. Wishing to plank his fish, 
it became necessary for the Angler to find 
a suitable board. Near the camp, nailed to 
a tree, was a large sign with black lettering 
reading something like this: 



NO POACHING 



Quickly it was pounded free and the fish 
planked on the other side. Where it became 
burned the wood was scraped and the sign 
was replaced. Nobody was ever the wiser, 
except the guides, and they never told. 

Next day they returned to the first camp. 

There was another branch of the river that 

might be called a short cut to the head 

waters. The guides reported the fishing to 

26 



PLANKING POACHERS 

be rather poor but told us of a large pool 
near the source where very fine fish could 
be taken. 

As the Angler was being paddled slowly 
along he suddenly remembered that he had 
a duty to perform and a report to make. 

"Bob," he began, "tell me please, just 
where the mill is on the big river, — the one 
that dumps so much sawdust into the 
stream." 

Bob stopped paddling, shifted his quid, 
and giving the Angler a curious look, growled 
out: "What in Hell be ye a-talkin' 'bout? 
Never was, ain't, and never's likely to be 
no sawmill in these diggin's. Lived here 
goin' on forty years 'n never seen a log yit. 
Some darn fool was a-guyin' ye." 

No more he said. No more was needed. 
The Angler was a poacher, — a common 
poacher! This Angler, who had never 
poached anything but an egg and who had 
never before knowingly broken a law. And 
he had even gone so far as to plank his fish 
on the painted sign! And Billy was a 
poacher, too, only he did not know it. 

When once more at home the Humble 
Angler wrote to the Major and thanked him 
for his delightful trip, expressing his appre- 
27 



REMINISCENT TALES 

ciation of all that had been done for himself 
and companion. 

A postscript was added: "Professional 
and Official. The salmon taken from the 
river were found to be in remarkably good 
condition. No ill effects from the sawdust, 
that might be found in the waters, were de- 
tected." 



28 



A Day of Daze 

When Dr. Henshall said, "Inch for inch 
and pound for pound, there is no gamier 
fish in American waters than the small- 
mouthed black bass," the tribute was well 
deserved. Dr. Henshall is always right in 
whatever he asserts or writes about in his 
charming way. 

The Humble Angler, for years an ardent 
admirer and follower of his teachings, has 
become as enthusiastic as his master. Most 
unexpectedly the opportunity came enabling 
him to prove emphatically all his friend and 
preceptor claimed concerning the clever 
gameness of the black bass. 

In the vastness of the Maine forests lies 
a wondrous lake. Hidden from view amid 
the wealth of pine and fir that borders it 
about, one must be familiar with the un- 
marked pathways and short-cuts in this 
section of woodland to locate it at all. So 
secluded and so far from the public high- 
way it has remained unknown to the army of 
anglers who are content to seek the more 
accessible and better known resorts. 
29 



REMINISCENT TALES 

This gem of inland waters has a bewitch- 
ing charm of its own, and in contour and 
colour differs greatly from the other lochs 
that abound in the vicinity. 

A narrow, rough, and choked pathway, 
hardly worthy of being called a road, 
abruptly branches from the highway like 
some forsaken and aged trail that might 
have been used by lumbermen in the winter 
season. It winds up hill and down dell for 
at least three miles. In many of the low 
places, crossed by small streams, the over- 
flow has made muck holes difficult of navi- 
gation. The rocky shore of the lake itself 
ends the trail. 

The observer views a broad sheet of 
sparkling, rippling waters, circular in out- 
line. At different segments of the huge 
bowl masses of thick pine growth throw 
deep shadows on the surface. Patches of 
white birches give light and color to other 
portions, while bending bush bedecks the 
lowlands in a medley of vivid greens, pro- 
ducing a variety of shadings perfectly 
blended. 

At first glance this circle gives the impres- 
sion of completeness, but careful inspection 
shows at either end juttings of thickly wooded 

30 



A DAY OF DAZE 

headlands, each obscuring a winding, twist- 
ing passageway to another lake. Thus is 
formed a trio, hard to surpass in beauty. 

One who loved nature and appreciated 
fully the gifts she bestows had built a com- 
fortable camp not far from the shores, where 
in this forest and lake-bound retreat he found 
restful enjoyment. 

A royal welcome was accorded the visi- 
tors. Although himself a hunter by choice 
he was delighted to place at their disposal 
such equipment as he possessed. 

A commodious rowboat accommodated 
the young lady, her escort, and the guide. 
The only other available boat was a sunken 
derelict. Emptied and righted, it would 
float, but it leaked rather badly. A piece of 
rough fence rail and a semblance of an oar, 
now aged and infirm, constituted the pro- 
pulsive force when carefully and laboriously 
manipulated. The bailing was good. 

Both boats started at the same time but 
in opposite directions. Soon the Angler 
drifted out of sight of his companions. 
Propelling the skiff as best he could, a splash 
among the pads attracted his attention and 
a fleeting glance caught the leap of a splendid 
small-mouth. 

3i 



REMINISCENT TALES 

This token gave hope. Teasing to wind- 
ward his porous bark, he cast toward the 
pads but not among them. The cast con- 
sisted of three flies on No. 6 sproat hooks; 
Henshall for the drop; scarlet Ibis, midway; 
and Montreal, tail-fly; — in order to ascer- 
tain which one might prove to be the favorite. 

Breezes rippled the surface just enough, 
the sunlight was exactly right, and the day 
showed that these elusive warriors were in 
the proper mood, for artificial flies were 
successful lures. Swift rushes and rises, 
sharp strikes and powerful righting began 
and continued. 

In a leaky boat, minus a landing net or 
anyone to aid him, the Angler became too 
occupied to make any changes in his tackle 
had he so wished, as a school of excited and 
large fish began to leap all about and near 
the lily-pads. Years of experience made it 
possible for him to keep calm and work 
carefully, so not a fish was lost. 

Act the first ended; for it became obliga- 
tory to cry a halt and bail. Truly a strange 
metamorphosis had taken place. The fish 
taken had been quickly and gently un- 
hooked and fell back into their element; but 
only in the portion encircled by the frame- 

32 



A DAY OF DAZE 

work of this Van Winkle heirloom. It was 
changed to a floating aquarium. And they 
were quite happy for they were only semi- 
conscious of the fact that they were cap- 
tives. 

Act the second was but a repetition. So 
eagerly and voraciously these strong, active 
chaps responded to the lure, thrice a trio 
of them needed all care and skill, while many 
doubles followed. In the interim the singles 
proved worthy antagonists. 

Anxious for a good creel and with every 
moment taken up, the Angler utterly forgot 
two important matters, namely: to count 
the fish as they were taken, and to bail. 

Bailing was the more necessary, for should 
the aquarium sink an accurate knowledge 
of arithmetic would prove superfluous. En- 
ergy and swiftness of action were demanded. 

The Angler bailed and bailed and bailed 
some more, yet the lake rather enjoyed re- 
turning more quickly than it could be thrown 
out of the spongy aquarium. Then he re- 
sorted to the arduous procedure of bailing on 
one side and using the fence rail on the other. 

His strength was not equal to such a 
strain and his vessel reeled, pushed her nose 
skyward and settled aft. 

33 



REMINISCENT TALES 

Act the third consisted of tumbling over- 
board just in the nick of time, and with a 
few strokes he shoved her toward the rocky 
shore where she caught and stuck. 

The weary, wobbly, and wet Angler 
waited for his companions. If his matches 
and cigars had not been wet, he could have 
smoked; if he was thirsty he could drink in 
the enchanting scene. Little did he care, 
for were not his fish alive and well? 

It was not long before his friends spied 
him. To them the boat looked as if it had 
been swamped. 

"Hello there, what's the matter? Fall 
overboard?" was shouted by one of them. 

"Me? Do you think I fell overboard? 
Nothing of the kind. Been in swimming. 
Draw near, pretty ones, draw near. I've 
something to show you." 

This they did and gazed upon the treasures 
that the aquarium held at close range. 

A chorus of exclamations arose in a mo- 
ment. A free translation follows: 

"Bully for you, old chap!" 

"Oh, how splendid!" 

"Why didn't you leave a few?" 

"Gee, look at that whale!" 

"Well, I'll bed d!" 

34 



A DAY OF DAZE 

"Great Scott, what a gang!" 

"Best fisherman I ever see!" 

"Oh, you poor dear, you are wet through 
and through!" 

"I'm starved, soaked, and sober," replied 
the Humble Angler, as soon as he could 
make himself heard above the babel. "Get 
ye hence, good people, build the fire and 
make ready the grub. I'll be with you in a 
jiffy." And so saying, he jumped into the 
water and resumed bailing. 

Suddenly he had a sharp chill. It was 
not due to his wetting, but to fear. He had 
counted thirty fish and consequently had 
almost broken the law. Not quite, however, 
for the fish were still alive. Gently, one by 
one, he restored his captives to their rightful 
home, only retaining the largest ones and 
not more than could be used. 

The guide now helped, and combining 
their efforts the aquarium was turned on her 
side. When she was righted she became 
just the leaky old boat again. 

Fire, food, a smoke, and a rehearsal of 
experiences brought added pleasure. And 
as the other members of the party had a 
full creel, it was a happy group that rested 
'neath the pines until the sinking sun 

35 



REMINISCENT TALES 

warned them that they must start if they 
wished to reach the camp before dusk. 

The Angler did not care to fish on his 
return trip, preferring to devote his efforts 
to exhibitions of various methods of rowing, 
sculling, and pushing. 

Their host was on the lookout and as the 
boats drew up alongside the wharf, shouted, 
"Had any luck?" 

"Luck," replied the Angler, "why it was 
great! Never had such fishing in all my 
life. Take a look at these, Judge, and see 
for yourself. Hold them up, Charlie. Now, 
what do you think?" 

"Well, well, you are a good fisherman. I 
never knew there were such bouncers about, 
and I've camped here ten years or so," 
gasped the surprised man. 

Again was the story told before they said 
"au revoir" and they tried to express their 
gratitude for the Judge's courtesy. They 
departed carrying with them a cordial invi- 
tation to come and spend a week, and their 
host's promise that he would go along with 
them next time. 



36 



Pioneers of the Forest 

In the small but rather attractive village 
of Eustis, Maine, there once lived a family 
who became well known to most of the 
sportsmen who visited that section of the 
country. 

The household consisted of Mrs. Andrew 
Douglas, her husband, and Joe, an adopted 
son. Mrs. Andrew was the personage whose 
word was law, and her approval or disap- 
proval disposed of every question that agi- 
tated the household in its welfare. 

Her manipulation of discarded fruit and 
vegetable cans, combined with a copious 
amount of bean water, as a fertilizer, brought 
forth a constant display of gorgeous flowers, 
that gave touches of brightness and color to 
this simple and neat home. 

She was the midwife of the town and when 
illness appeared it was due to her notherly 
care, combined with a remarkable knowl- 
edge of medicinal herbs plus unlimited com- 
mon sense, that enabled her patients to im- 
prove rapidly. 

She was at the head of all the local branches 

37 



REMINISCENT TALES 

of the various societies and associations, and 
a devout church woman. In earlier years 
she had shared in the kill of big game for 
the market and handled weapons as well as 
any man ever did. 

Perhaps one incident clearly demonstrates 
the strength she possessed and her deep 
maternal love. 

These qualities and the Spartan spirit, 
always a characteristic of her personality, 
made it possible, when her eldest son met 
with an accident, to carry him on her back 
seven weary long miles through the snow 
to a hamlet where a doctor could take 
proper care of him. 

It is true that both in speech and manner 
this woman of forestland showed a little 
roughness, but withal she was a most kindly 
soul and well beloved. 

Andrew was a renowned moose hunter, 
and Joe had the reputation of being the best 
guide and woodsman in the state of Maine. 

The family sojourned in the summer 
months at a most comfortable camp on the 
shores of Deer Lake, half way to the King 
and Bartlett Lakes. It was customary for 
visitors to stop for dinner at their camp on 
their tramp to the larger lakes. 

38 



PIONEERS OF THE FOREST 

The Angler first met Mrs. Douglas when 
he tarried for a noon meal. Liking the place 
far better than any other he had seen, he 
chose Deer Lake as headquarters for a 
number of seasons. 

It became customary each evening for all 
of them to gather about a cheery wood fire 
and chat over the events of the day. A wee 
nightcap was never forgotten just before re- 
tiring. Many stories were told of the priva- 
tions and hardships of pioneer days all re- 
plete in interest and some of them tragic in 
character. 

For camp wear she selected apparel of 
blue and white calico gowns. In wet weather 
a man's oil-skin suit, rubber boots, and a 
regular fisherman's hat served her needs to 
her perfect satisfaction. 

When necessary to go to Eustis on a 
rainy day she rode, bare back, a raw-boned 
ungainly old plug, named "General." This 
peculiar combination was inimitable. 

Between Mrs. Douglas and the Angler a 
warm friendship existed. He called her 
"Aunty," and in return her affection was 
expressed by the endearing term of "Son." 

Mrs. Douglas received a letter, just pre- 
ceding the Angler's annual visit, stating 

39 



REMINISCENT TALES 

that he would arrive quite late at Eustis on 
a Saturday evening. Would she see him on 
Sunday morning at the hotel? 

A small steamer trunk filled the space in 
one corner of the room he occupied. A 
little wooden box had been deposited on 
top of the trunk. 

The Angler, attired in pajamas, as he 
lounged upon the bed enjoying the delicious 
air and the peace of a Sabbath morn, heard 
a gentle knocking at the door. 

In response to his "Come in," Aunty 
swept into the room garbed in her very 
best go-to-meeting clothes. On each side 
of her face her hair had been slicked down 
severely. It was twisted into a hard, small 
ball at the back. 

Held in position by an enormous black 
ribbon bow, a diminutive black bonnet sup- 
ported huge red peonies on the right and 
left. A black satin dress, supposedly up-to- 
date, listed to port and dragged aft to a 
marked degree, but fitted perfectly other- 
wise. An imitation black lace shawl drooped 
from her shoulders. Her hands were par- 
tially covered by old-fashioned mitts. 

Over her left bosom an emblem of the 
Queen's Daughters or something of the kind 
40 



PIONEERS OF THE FOREST 

rose and fell in cadence with her breathing. 
Her slightest movement caused a rattling 
like the linen spinnaker of an English cutter 
makes when a fresh breeze is caught fully. 

A profusion of cheap rings intensified the 
distorted finger joints. The rattling became 
more marked as with folded hands in front 
she advanced slowly toward the bed. When 
this was reached, she managed to sit half- 
way down upon it. Then she gently 
smoothed her garments, folded her hands 
again, and smiled down upon the Angler. 

"Well, Son, how be yer, an' how did yer 
winter?" she inquired anxiously. "Yer ain't 
be a-lookin' quite pert 'nough to please me; 
gess they druv yer too much sence yer went 
back agin, didn't they?" 

"Aunty, I am all tired out, but you don't 
know how glad I am to get here. Holy 
smoke! How fine you look! Never saw 
you in glad rags before; why, the Queen of 
Sheba would become envious if she could 
see you now." 

The plans for the following day were 
talked over, an early start being decided upon. 

Nothing ever escaped Aunty's eagle eye 
and she spied the familiar wooden box on 
top of the trunk. 

41 



REMINISCENT TALES 

"See yer didn't fergit yer med'cin', Son, 
did yer? Yer brung alon' last year a box 
juss like that 'ere one a-settin' over there 
in the corner. It's sure tarnel kind in yer 
to thunk on it." 

"That's all right, Aunty, but listen. It's 
bully good to see you again and to know 
that to-morrow we'll be in camp once more. 
Let's celebrate. I'll get a hammer, open 
the box, pull a cork and mix a wee nippie, 
just for luck; how does that hit you?" 

"Son, yer allers wuz a gen'rus an' thought- 
ful cuss. Now ther hain't be nuthin' in this 
'ere world I'd ruther do, but, Son, I can't 
do it nohow. I'm superintendent of that 

G d Sunday school, an' some one 

might ketch a smellin* of my breath." 

Oh! the agony that came to the poor 
Angler. How much he wanted to laugh yet 
did not dare. 

The reason given for refusing was a simple 
and clear one. Emphasis made it stronger, 
and this was as the good woman intended. 



42 



A Novel Lure 

Although the speckled beauty of the 
brook excels all other inhabitants of sweet 
waters in loveliness and alertness, in his 
omnivorous desire to appease the hunger 
dominating his existence all selective tend- 
encies are eradicated. Artificial baits and 
lures, both weird and strange, hold a re- 
markable fascination, although inexplicable. 

The Angler in many years of experience 
had become familar with the majority of 
these gastronomic delights, but chanced to 
discover one much more unique and odd than 
any of them. 

A hearty invitation to visit the summer 
home of a good friend — a big-hearted and 
generous sort of a chap — had been received 
and accepted. The Angler believed him to 
be not only an ardent fisherman but a 
skilled one. 

This impression was derived from all he 
told him about a trout stream, its locality 
and the number of fish caught. 

He offered no suggestions when asking the 

43 



REMINISCENT TALES 

Angler to select everything necessary for 
himself and friends during the fishing season. 

It became a pleasant duty for the Angler 
to do as requested. A rod, reel, line, a few 
small hooks, a box of split-shot, and an assort- 
ment of favorite flies were selected. The flies 
were tied on No. 6 hooks and in bunches of a 
half dozen of each kind. A few leaders added 
made the outfit quite complete. 

The Angler left on a Friday afternoon and 
arrived at his friend's house that evening. 
It was a comfortable shack not far from the 
ocean. Plans for an early start were made be- 
fore they retired. Enumerating just what 
the outfit contained he handed it to his host. 

During the night it rained hard. The 
sportsmen arose at daybreak, had breakfast, 
and made a start as soon as a sleepy old nag 
could be harnessed into an old-fashioned but 
comfortable buggy. 

After a somewhat lengthy drive a farm- 
house was found where they changed their 
shoes for long rubber boots and left the team 
in the barn. They walked from the house 
to the brook. When it was located the bush 
growth proved to be extremely thick and no 
chance to cast at all. 

The utter astonishment of the Angler may 

44 



A NOVEL LURE 

be imagined when Ned stepped calmly into 
the stream and began wading toward its 
source. He could say nothing, but naturally 
followed. 

They emerged shortly into an open 
meadow and here there was plenty of space 
and one decent pool. 

The Angler suggested to Ned that he whip 
this pool most thoroughly, while he would 
follow the stream higher up and ascertain 
the lay of the land. 

This he did, finding that the brook be- 
came smaller and smaller and almost hid- 
den by long grasses. To try flies seemed use- 
less. A small foot bridge made of two planks 
attracted his attention. A fair amount of 
water flowed underneath. 

He now removed the leader and substi- 
tuted a baited hook. Crawling near enough 
to toss it into the brook, a trout was taken, 
so he kept on until he had half a dozen. These 
were sufficient for lunch and he stopped fish- 
ing, leisurely wandering toward the pool. 
The stream he decided was only a brooklet, 
having its source among the hills. There 
were no other pools. 

Ned, The Fisherman, was still sitting on 
the bank, the sun at his back, bobbing the 

45 



REMINISCENT TALES 

line up and down, down and up — earnest, 
serious, and intense. 

"What luck, Ned?" asked the Angler. 

"Nothing yet," he replied. 

"What are you fishing with?" 

"Flies," he answered. 

It was the actual truth. A sinker had been 
fastened to the leader and the entire bunch 
of brown hackles secured to the middle loop. 
Bobbing them up and down patiently await- 
ing the appearance of a hungry trout. 

To entice still more this dreamland beauty, 
his shadow cast itself upon the water, and 
being a large man this shadow was of broad- 
ened dimensions. 

Still the mighty fish absolutely scorned the 
six brown hackles and the cooling shade. 
Very strange indeed, very strange. 

The Angler did not laugh. ' HE DID 
HAVE A PAIN, just where is immaterial. 
He was far from home and the way back was 
unknown, so he did not even dare to smile. 

"Too bad, too bad, but never mind, here 
are enough for lunch," he simply said. 

"Let's see 'em," interrupted Ned. 

The creel was opened, the little fish were 
in rigor mortis but still beautiful in coloring. 

"What are they?" Ned inquired. The 

46 



A NOVEL LURE 

Angler heard not, for a moment he turned 
his back, lit a cigar, and silently prayed for 
strength. 

Finally he answered, "TROUT." 

"Oh," murmured the exhausted host, "I 
never saw one before." 

"It's too hot to fish longer; let's go back 
and try the ocean," coughed rather than 
spoke the Angler, for the cigar smoke choked 
and nearly made him weep. 

"All right," Ned agreed. He looked hot 
and tired but intensely relieved. 

When in church or during a funeral service, 
or a companion breaks every tradition of 
piscatorial law and a person tries to stifle a 
powerful laugh, because it is not good man- 
ners to show others you happen to be amused, 
then the suffering that the Humble Angler 
underwent can be more fully understood. 

Two things bothered him and never were 
explained. Why, rubber boots were worn 
where there was not water enough to have 
filled them, and what became of the six 
brown hackles? 

A task remained. Ned must be taught to 
use flies properly. Fortune smiled this time. 
A brackish river flowed lazily, quite near the 
shack. Its waters abounded with white 

47 



REMINISCENT TALES 

perch. Shrimps were tried first, then flies 
substituted. The perch rose readily. Ed- 
ward profited by this first lesson. He caught 
fish quite in the right manner and enjoyed it 
immensely. 

The Angler saw a large school of young 
pollack in the bay the following morning. 
Casting 'mid the waves among them, a 
number were obtained. The school soon 
sought deeper water. He suggested to Ned 
that they take a boat and follow them, but 
nothing would induce Edward to abandon 
his secure post on the pier, so the Angler went 
alone and Ned watched him. 

Both joined a fishing club in Canada, later 
in the year. Ned became a most enthusias- 
tic sportsman, and, in time, an expert. 

Delightful trips in different seasons were 
taken by them. The Angler never men- 
tioned the incident. Today it is a pleasant 
thought for him to remember that he did not 
strike the gaff when his host demonstrated 
that new and novel lure. 



White Perch De Luxe 

Two men in a boat — this particular boat 
being a canoe. A girl was there also because 
she had been invited, and she made three in 
this canoe, as you can see plainly — 

The Girl— The Angler— The Guide. 

The guide very naturally gave his entire 
attention to the charming guest, as he was 
young himself. 

It was an exquisite morning in August. A 
brilliant blue sky, pleasant sunshine be- 
stowed comfortable warmth, while gentle 
breezes made the shadows of flying clouds 
dance on the surface of the waters. 

The lake itself was a rare gem of woodland. 
Great and small islands imparted a pleasing 
diversity of color and outlines. At various 
places the irregular shore line formation 
spread into beaches of pebbled sands or 
massed in ledges the high rocks boldly jutted 
far out from the shores. 

Here and there patches of white birches, 
bursts of meadow land or dense bush growth 

49 



REMINISCENT TALES 

lent their charms. High hills, their slopes 
thickly studded with compact foliage of vivid 
greens, arose from the water's edge. 

To an observer successive rapid turnings 
and windings, all replete in beauty, begat 
surprises. 

A broad flowing river forms the outlet. 
Along its banks myriads of handsome pond 
lilies bloomed, filling the air with their 
fragrance. 

This stream wends its quiet way for miles 
and miles through meadow lands. At irregu- 
lar distances diminutive ponds or mud ponds, 
as they are styled, are formed. 

In most of them, en masse, these delicate 
pond lily flowers, blossom and fade unseen 
save by the winged life of woods and waters. 

(Lilies begin to shut up at i p. m., and not 
I a. m., as human beings do.) 

The waters teem with large white perch, 
larger pickerel, and the ordinary pond fish. 

A white perch, as far as his strength per- 
mits him to be, is a dead game fish. When 
schooling, they are extremely lively and in 
chasing small fry well near the shore, make 
the water buzz in their hunger-rushes. 

They rise to a fly or take a bait in a raven- 
ous manner but only for a brief time, then 

50 



WHITE PERCH LE LUXE 

suddenly stop and can not be tempted again 
until late in the afternoon. 

When about, gulls are excellent guides. 
Where they are seen hovering or diving, 
that's the place where the perch are feeding. 

The spot chosen for fishing was at the end 
of a small baylike curvature skirting the edge 
of pads and long grasses. 

It's good fun to cast small flies for hungry 
white perch; but not difficult, as they strike 
sharply. 

Rather small flies, say No. 8, bright in 
coloring, are well taken. The Angler chose 
a light-wing Davis, Parmachenee belle and 
a Montreal. The young lady, a King of the 
waters, Scarlet Ibis and a Brown hackle. 

When this daughter of Neptune struck a 
fish immediately she landed him. Fre- 
quently she had two on the cast and twice a 
trio responded. She did not lose a single fish, 
for her gallant guide stopped flirting with her 
and flirted the fish very carefully into the 
boat. The Angler allowed his cast to fill each 
time before teasing the captives near the boat. 

White perch are the most delicious of the 
food fishes that inhabit sweet waters. That 
morning all that were needed were taken in 
a clean and sportsmanlike fashion. 

51 



REMINISCENT TALES 

There was a pretty little camp quite near 
at hand, almost hidden among young white 
birches. The clever owner blasted the rock 
formation, making a landing from a canoe a 
simple and safe thing to accomplish. 

The intention of the outing party was to 
rest and wait for the afternoon fishing, but 
this intention was never fulfilled. 

Just before embarking in the morning, Miss 
Neptune confessed frankly that she was 
scared to try a canoe. Gratified and inter- 
ested thoroughly when she realized her 
teacher was being beaten, her fears vanished. 
Once she arose to her feet and attempted to 
walk from the stern to the bow. 

The guide warned her just in time. How- 
ever this lesson was forgotten when my lady 
fair wished to gather lilies before the after- 
noon start was made. 

The canoe, the maiden, and the solicitous 
guide set out to gather fragrant flowers. 
Anxious to collect a goodly quantity, she for- 
got each time that the wrist watch worn on 
the reaching-out arm took a bath each and 
every grab she made for the desired flower. 

Not being familiar with the tenacity of the 
long, slippery stems she hung on too long 
and too hard, and as a consequence she pulled 

52 



WHITE PERCH LE LUXE 

herself overboard before the guide could 
prevent. 

Fortunately the water was not deep. 
Rather a mess for a time, but the shore was 
made, the lilies saved, while the dampened 
lady laughed, exclaiming emphatically: 

"Anyway, I did get the one I wanted and 
I never let go of it either." 

This was true too. No harm followed the 
ducking. Little things akin to this incident 
never trouble a true fisherman or a fisher- 
woman. 

White perch unusual in size, pond lilies of 
superb fragrance and beauty, and the addi- 
tion of a refreshing bath certainly created 
a piscatorial de luxe fancy, complete in each 
detail. 



53 



Where Chasms Frown 

In her wheezy efforts to maintain headway, 
an asthmatic tug boat tickled the waters of 
Puget Sound into smothered laughter. Her 
worn-out appearance branded her as a relic 
of better days. 

This particular craft had been hired by the 
Humble Angler to convey him from Portland 
to the breeding grounds of the Salmon and 
the Rainbow trout. It was the only vessel 
that could be chartered. 

From the peculiar actions of "Kate Long" 
and those of her captain, engineer and crew — 
the crew being composed of the aforesaid 
individuals — the Angler came to the conclu- 
sion that an explosion, a sinking, or a part- 
ing in twain might at any moment disturb 
the placidity of the voyage, and this convic- 
tion was strengthened when he observed on 
the part of both officers and crew a strict 
obedience to the laws of navigation, fre- 
quently demonstrated by partaking liberally 
of a mixture of whisky and sherry wine. 

Then things changed. The engineer in- 
sisted in confiding to the lonely passenger the 

54 



WHERE CHASMS FROWN 

secrets of his life, the recital affecting him 
strongly, and caused weeping. While he wept, 
sleep overcame him and the passenger de- 
parted. 

The captain then caught sight of him and 
invited this worried being to join him in the 
pilot house. Would he take the wheel for 
a while? 

"Certainly," was the answer. The zigzag 
wake of the tug made it imperative that the 
course should be made known. 

"Keep the damn thing in the middle if you 
can," the captain half snored and sank to 
slumber. Then the timid passenger became 
— the captain, the engineer and the crew until 
he was later on relieved. 

At the hour of the Angelus, Katie Long, 
exhausted and worn, pushed herself against 
the fragile pier of Rockyledge. 

The proprietor — the head bellboy — all the 
bellboys — the cook, the clerk — the hostler — 
the porter and the other employees of the 
Inn — extended a welcome to the newly arrived 
guest. 

"I'm Jim Macey and run this hotel, but 
'bout here they call me Goggles. Glad to 
meet you. What might your name be?" 

The soaked mariners, having become in- 

ss 



REMINISCENT TALES 

ternally dry once more, simultaneously 
shouted "Hello, Goggles." A hand wave 
and "Hello, Boys," acknowledged this salu- 
tation. 

The following morning the landlord was 
informed by his only guest the reason why 
he had come to Rockyledge Inn, and then 
was asked by him where the best fishing 
could be found. 

Macey suggested a river — not far away 
where Rainbow trout abounded — that might 
be tried first. The simple, clearly given di- 
rections were easy to follow. The Angler 
decided to give this place a trial. 

The hike proved to be a long one before he 
heard the song of rushing waters. The gleam 
of an ideal stream, seen through the vistas, 
tingled his nerves with pleasurable anticipa- 
tion. 

A test of skill followed the taking of an 
alluring fly by a leaping Rainbow. Unheeded 
were both time and locality. The daylight 
began to fade. Once more upon the high- 
way, he started, as he supposed, towards the 
Inn. 

As twilight quivered he walked persever- 
ingly on and on. The road seemed to have 
lengthened since the morning's jaunt. 
5* 



WHERE CHASMS FROWN 

Approaching him he discerned a young 
man, twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. 
He carried a rifle in his hands. A cartridge 
belt encircled his waist. A haversack was 
strapped to his shoulders: all suggesting that 
he might be on a hunting trip. 

"Will you kindly tell me how far it is to 
Rockyledge?" the Angler inquired. 

"Why, stranger, you're headed wrong. 
Reckon you don't know these parts. Too 
late to get there to-night, it will be so dark in 
half an hour you couldn't see the road. Bet- 
ter let me put you up 'til morning and then 
I'll straighten things out." 

The Angler thanked him and accepted. 
As they trudged along together the highway 
was forsaken, until his companion took the 
lead, when entering into the mazes of a thick 
grove. 

"Don't you think we'd better take a bite, 
stranger?" he quietly remarked, as he stopped 
beneath a large tree — dense in luxuriant foli- 
age — placing his rifle within easy reach and 
opening his haversack. 

The famished Angler replied that food 
would be most acceptable. Starting a fire, 
some of the fish were quickly cleaned and 
broiled. The meal satisfied their hunger. 

57 



REMINISCENT TALES 

Instead of continuing the tramp, the 
younger man began to gather grass and leaves 
out of which he constructed a rude couch. 
As he finished, turning towards his compan- 
ion, he remarked: . 

"Stranger, it will be far wiser for you to 
know the truth. This grand old tree that 
shelters us for to-night at least is our home. 
It's like this: A short time ago I killed a man. 
The act was in self-defense. 

"It happened far away from here. As I 
had no proof of my innocence, I thought it 
wiser to disappear for a time. The people in 
the neighborhood knew a feud existed be- 
tween the dead man and myself. 

"Suspicion will fall on me. Had I not 
fatally winged him at the first shot, he would 
have killed me. Now you know the facts. 
Suppose a posse has started hunting for my 
scalp, it's not likely they can find me. 

"Wiser though not to be caught napping, 
so I'm careful. You lie down and try to get 
a wink of sleep. If you hear shots, just keep 
quiet, for even if they did find you no harm 
would come of it and I should have made a 
get-away all right. Tell 'em you got lost, met 
a chap who brought you here, and then lit 
out. Good-night." 

58 



WHERE CHASMS FROWN 

At daybreak they retraced their steps to 
the highway. At parting, the fugitive laugh- 
ingly commented, "I have no name and you 
never met me. I have thoroughly enjoyed 
your companionship. Good luck go with 
you! 

Goggles had started to find the Angler and 
they met on the road. "Where in Hell have 
you been? I thought you were drowned." 

The bed in the Angler's room looked most 
inviting. 

The Angler wished to study both Salmon 
and the Rainbow trout in their native waters. 
He talked matters over with Macey. 

"So you want more of it, do you?" said 
Goggles. "Well, by Jupiter! You have the 
nerve. I'll take you to just the right spot. 
Wait 'til I hitch up old Major and we'll go 
along. Won't do to let you roam 'bout 
alone." 

The road along the edge of a high plateau 
was rough and nearly hidden by grass growth. 
It ran towards the North in almost a straight 
line. An easily forded, broadened brook 
crossed the highway. They halted among the 
mighty trees of an immense grove. A deep 
ravine made an abrupt descent of nearly 

59 



REMINISCENT TALES 

fifteen hundred feet from the edge of this 
plateau to the banks of a stately river. 

In the shadows of giant cliffs, its waters 
were of indigo hue save where they crashed 
against huge boulders in snowlike froth. 

Such wondrous beauty challenged even an 
inadequate description. A strip of sandy 
shore bordered the water's edge, providing 
an excellent spot for perfect fly casting. 

No need of recording the methods em- 
ployed in undertaking the somewhat hazard- 
ous descent. 

The Angler tarried, securing a goodly 
number of fine fish. It did not please him at 
all to have Macey shout suddenly and 
loudly: 

"By Jinks! there's a fellow coming to see 
me today; I forgot all about it. You stay as 
long as you like. The big pool is just be- 
yond that first bend. When you're ready 
old Major will get you home all right. 

"I'll take a short cut back. Hope you 
don't mind my leaving you? So long and 
good luck." 

The Angler was startled by the sound of 

voices, while resting for a while. Half a 

dozen men emerged from the brush. All of 

them carried long poles with a spear-like at- 

60 



WHERE CHASMS FROWN 

tachment. He ascertained soon that they 
were engineers, surveying for a railroad cor- 
poration. All were graduates of Harvard. 

They asked him to join them spearing sal- 
mon, if he cared for the sport. In single file 
a sinuous course was followed, on the side of 
the largest cliff that would take them to the 
great pool. 

All of the young men wore spiked shoes 
and secured good footholds. No real path 
existed. The Angler followed as best he 
could. 

Heavy waters poured incessantly over a 
high, broad, natural dam. Both salmon and 
trout lurked below, awaiting their chance to 
leap the fall. 

Several days of continued torrid weather 
had caused melting snows from a distant 
range of mountains to augment the volume 
of water in the river, making it impossible for 
the salmon to leap well above the dam. 

The strong current knocked about these 
fish and many of them fell back again into 
the pool. In this way the chance opened for 
spear play that often ended in a kill. 

Although greatly interested, the Angler 
realized that he could tarry no longer. 
Shouting a good-bye he began his return 
61 



REMINISCENT TALES 

journey, but suddenly slipped when in sight 
of the place where he had been fishing. 

He tried to save himself. It was in vain. 
Towards the bottom of the ravine he rolled 
over and over. A fair-sized tree, felled by a 
stroke of lightning, saved his life most for- 
tunately. 

His trousers caught on a branch, tearing 
them badly, but enabling him to hold on 
tightly when he forcibly struck the tree. The 
rest of the way he crawled on his hands and 
knees. 

On his way homeward, with the sky as a 
background, three sharply defined silhouettes 
held his attention. Indians! War bonnets, 
war paint, rifles, and addenda. The Angler 
was scared. His fears were without founda- 
tion. 

They passed on their way without giving 
him a glance. That evening, when he related 
the incident, Macey told him that once in a 
long time the Indians of that part of the 
country had a war dance and a big pow-wow. 

The next day the Angler returned to Port- 
land, but not with "Katie Long." 



62 



Frolics of the Silver Kings 

Amid the mazes of the Floridian Ever- 
glades a stream has its source that forms a 
river when augmented very gradually by ad- 
ditional waters from adjacent swamps, many 
of these being of immense size. 

It meanders in tortuous windings and con- 
tortions along its banks of moss-draped, 
stunted tree growth, or through lowlands of 
barren soils and scattered sections of marshes. 

Mantles of luxurious and vividly green 
lily pads hide the ugliness of its sluggish, 
vacillating progress. As the sea level is 
finally approached its pace quickens, espe- 
cially when the ebbing tidal waters exert 
their influence. 

A high embankment has been formed by 
the powerful rushing strength of the Ocean's 
billows upon an immense stretch of brightly 
gleaming sands, that serves, save where a 
breakage occurs when salt and sweet waters 
unite, as a strong sea wall. 

A mile or two back from the river's mouth 

63 



REMINISCENT TALES 

a good-sized lake has formed in a natural, 
broadened hollowing out of the soil. 

It is deep in some places. In the lake it- 
self the force of the tides is felt strongly, but 
entirely lost above the point where the river 
empties into the brackish waters of this pe- 
culiarly freakish distortion. 

The adjacent marshes are overflowed when 
a strong flood dominates. 

As the ebb begins and rushes again sea- 
ward in as active a manner as marked its in- 
coming, the amount of water dwindles per- 
ceptibly. 

While at Palm Beach, the Angler learned 
that a school of young Tarpon — better known 
as Silver Kings — had been seen in this locality 
early that morning. 

Fort Lauderdale, a trading station on the 
river, not a great distance from Palm Beach, 
was the most available starting point. 

The Angler procured a skiff here and with 
his guide hurried on to the lake. A supply of 
mullet had fortunately been obtained, so 
there was no delay. 

A number of sportsmen, their boats an- 
chored at the nearer end not far from the 
opening, were in waiting. 

Beneath Southern skies, this typical day 

64 



FROLICS OF THE SILVER KINGS 

of an early Spring was bathed in a wealth of 
burnished sunshine, whose splendors even 
tinged the soft, mild breezes laden with odors 
of the Ocean. 

As the crimson sun blazed down upon the 
tremulous surface of the loch the peaceful 
scene in an instant becomes transformed. 

Lethargy vanished, replaced by the mag- 
nificent active play of silvered forms leaping 
high in the air, shaking from their gleaming 
bodies rainbowed mists as by hundreds, in 
riotous dashing, jumping and diving, their 
hosts forsook the extreme end of the lake and 
advanced in aeroplanic formation, seeking 
their home waters once more. 

Fountains of water splashed everywhere 
as they rushed blindly among the boats. All 
of them became frightened at the same mo- 
ment, dove deeply, and whirled through the 
pass into the river. 

Such a bewildering and marvelous finale 
to this aquatic gaiety astonished the specta- 
tors beyond the power of expression. The 
act itself and the actors will never be for- 
gotten. 

That a person can entirely lose self-control 
under excitement was demonstrated in an 
amusing incident. 

«5 



REMINISCENT TALES 

An erratic individual, who early in the day- 
had forsaken his companions and gone to the 
other end of the lake, gave chase when the 
players started the game, hurling his bait 
after them and madly shouting: 

"Stop them! Stop them! For GOD'S 
sake, don't let 'em get away!" 

The Angler, hoping a chance might still 
come to take a Tarpon, remained at the trad- 
ing post. 

When the moon is full, and only the moon, 
it is a most excellent time for night fishing. 

A motor boat was commissioned, the skiff 
attached, and the first moonlight excursion 
made its debut. 

The skipper had mentioned that blue fish 
very frequently came into the lower part of 
the river on a floodtide; so a wide-awake 
Angler, while on their seaward way, trolled 
for them, using a hand line and a fair-sized 
metal fish. 

Even the man in the moon laughed at Na- 
ture's moving picture of two instantaneous 
leaps (exquisitely shown, although Mr. Fox 
was not present at the time). 

A splendid Tarpon threw himself entirely 
out of the water, at the hook end of the line, 
then shaking himself free disappeared into the 
66 



FROLICS OF THE SILVER KINGS 

glorified wavelets of the moonbeam's path- 
way. 

The Angler had perched himself upon the 
part of the deck that projected into the cock- 
pit and given the line two extra twists about 
his hand. The leap he made landed him 
squarely on the astonished skipper's head. 

The metal fish had split in twain, twisted 
into distorted curlings. For many days a 
swollen and bruised hand required the An- 
gler's attention. 

He felt intimately acquainted with this 
paterfamilias, although unable to even catch 
sight of him. 



6 7 



Sulking Samsons 

A piscatory pibroch must have drowned 
the pastor's voice when the Togue was 
christened, or a bunch of names sticking like 
prickly burrs were hurled pell-mell at him. 

He is the same old Togue whether or not 
his aliases be Namaycush, Lake Trout, Lunge 
Siskowitz, Lake Salmon, Salmon, Trout, 
Mackinaw Trout, Fresh Water Cod, Black 
Trout, Pot Belly, the Tyrant of the Lake, or 
any of the others. 

He eats well, sleeps well, and attains re- 
markable weight. Like the Brook Trout he 
has spots on his body, but they lack in bril- 
liancy of coloring. If an angler informs you 
he has caught a twelve-pound trout, that 
trout is a Togue. 

These fish become very active soon after 
the ice goes out in early Spring, and will take 
a trolling lure quite near the shore. As the 
weather grows warmer they seek deeper 
waters and become sluggish in action. 

The best that can be said of this moody, 
powerful fish is that he is excellent eating, 
68 



SULKING SAMSONS 

when cooked properly. The worst, he never 
rises to a fly. 

Of all baits the most alluring is a fair-sized 
minnow, so impaled on an Archer spinner 
or two hooks, that on a swiveled leader it 
revolves well. A small sinker should be at- 
tached to the line when the water is quite deep. 

Seth Green tied a sinker to a piece of string 
and the string to the line, just above the 
leader — a most excellent and clever rig. If 
the sinker catches among the rocks, a pull 
breaks the string and saves the tackle. The 
sinker keeps touching bottom but always al- 
lows a good length of free line. 

A few hints may not be amiss to those of 
you who have not attempted the capture of 
these voracious, vicious villains. 

When a sharp tug is felt, give plenty of 
time, for Many Names likes to chew a bit be- 
fore he swallows. When you strike make it 
hard and strong. He will make a long run 
when well hooked, so let him go as far as he 
likes. 

He will halt, sulk, pull back and grunt, 
shaking his old head and begins to get mad 
as you reel in. Then he makes another run 
and sulks some more. He keeps up this 
sort of thing until he is tired out. 
69 



REMINISCENT TALES 

Always remember never to give him any 
slack. When he sulks, keep the line taut, but 
do not try to reel in by force, for he is heavy 
and powerful, and will break the line easily 
if too much strength is used. 

Hooks should be large and of good mate- 
rial. Big spoons, baited, spoons with the 
largest flies, or hooks with pieces of pork or 
pork rind, worms, fish, and raw meat make 
excellent lures. 

Troll in rather deep water near ledges or 

rocky shores. 

* * * * 

Once upon a time the Angler played the 
goat to perfection. 

While at a camp in Maine, where the fish- 
ing was excellent, a friend told him that in 
the neighborhood there was a lake abounding 
with Togue. Being an ardent fly caster he 
never had even tried for them, and was anx- 
ious to ascertain what they were like. His 
friend insisted that he should borrow his 
tackle. 

The rod was as heavy as one used for sal- 
mon but shorter. The reel looked huge and 
held a lot of line. The arrangement of hooks 
was wild and weird, but considered neces- 
sary. 

70 



SULKING SAMSONS 

Explaining that these fish were strong and 
of tremendous size, he warned the Angler 
that plenty of time should be given them to 
take the baits well into their mouths. 

The entire line might be taken in a rush 
and one had to be extremely careful. 

The Angler began to get a little worried. 
He had never seen such an equipment and 
never knew that such fish were to be found in 
sweet waters. 

The stuff was packed and a hike made to 
this lake. It was a delightful tramp. A 
rough cabin was found near the shore that 
would shelter them. No time was wasted in 
getting started. 

They paddled along quite a distance with- 
out having a strike. Suddenly the Angler 
felt a strong yank and the line began to run 
out very rapidly. He struck and struck 
sharply; the line ran faster and faster. 

"He tarn beeg chap," the guide murmured. 
No comment was made on his part, for he 
was both busy and scared. Not a sign of a 
fin, yet the line kept running fiercely and then 
howled. Seeing it had almost run out he 
asked the guide to cease paddling. The mo- 
ment the strain lessened the Angler reeled 
and reeled and then reeled some more. The 

71 



REMINISCENT TALES 

strike had been sure. The body of the victim 
bristled with every one of the hooks. 

A miserable old Log! 

The Angler returned to camp, did some 
thinking, strung up an ordinary rod and se- 
lected a trolling lure. His fears had vanished. 

Later on he took two fish without any 
trouble at all and the next day caught half 
a dozen. This ended his enchantment. 



72 



The Togue's Remarks 

I am stubborn, I am sulky, 

But my appetite is good; 
So I'm underweight but seldom, 

Though I'm rarely understood. 
For my moods, they differ greatly: 

In the summer I am still; 
While, in early days of springtime, 

My emotions make me thrill. 
At my jumping I'm a stunner, 

And no angler can seduce, 
Till I get right good and ready, 

When — I often slip a-loose. 
For I know a thing in rushing, 

When I wish to let off steam, 
I'm a wonder; yes, by thunder, 

I'm a college football team. 
Yes, I know a thing in rushing, 

Know just how to break a line; 
And for clinging to live bait, sir, 

Who can match the knack that's mine? 
So I often fool those "Waltons," 

As they think they have me sure, 
When I'm simply, of a rumpus, 

Playing soft my overture. 

73 



REMINISCENT TALES 

Some day, may be born a sportsman 

Who at once will know my game, 
Beat me always; and moreover, 

When, alas! at last, I'm tame, 
Being weighed out dead, that Villain — 

Oh! the shadow of the shame! 
Oh; sad gloaming of my glory! — 

Then may even change my name; 
Or may tell his friends a fable 

How he caught me "on the fly;" 
But I now, a simple laker, 

In advance that boast deny; 
And if he would only meet me, 

Face to face, in water, why 
I would give him in his gullet, 

Deep as to his lungs, the lie! 
Not with flies am I caught often; 

Reason why, I'm far too "fly." 



74 



Artful Antagonists 

The creel of a well remembered day had 
been a superb one. Whether pride should 
have filled the Angler's soul or shame o'er- 
come him is a question far better perhaps to 
place the simple facts before you and leave 
this matter for your decision. 

An old friend of his, Ned by name, ob- 
tained possession of a comfortable little cabin 
near the Wilson Lakes in Maine. He had 
kindly granted its use to the Angler when- 
ever he might care to try the fishing in this 
section of the country. 

Late in the month of June all arrangements 
were completed. Two good, true sportsmen 
and himself packed their kits and started for 
camp. 

The guides were waiting at the station, and 
as the day was yet young it was decided to 
fish a little and stop at some convenient 
place on the way to camp for luncheon. 

The Angler's particular guardian was one 
Herman, by name, a native of a nearby town. 
He was long-drawn-out, bow-legged and glo- 
rified with an abundance of hair of a brick- 

75 



REMINISCENT TALES 

dust sheen. His eyes "sot" in their expres- 
sion were small, bright, and blue in color. 

Before the parting came repeated demon- 
strations on his part conclusively proved that 
this human totem pole could do three things 
remarkably well. First — He made most ex- 
cellent coffee. Secondly — He held an entire 
and very hot potato in his mouth and con- 
versed in his usual piquant manner at the 
same time. Thirdly— He never failed to 
back a boat in the direction of a striking fish, 
thereby kindly giving this dweller of the deep 
plenty of slack line and an opportunity to 
shake for freedom. 

For this specimen of a man, hatred began 
to surge in the Angler's blood and become so 
strong that even murder seemed justifiable. 

Camp was made at last. Herman had to 
return for most of the supplies. Hours 
slipped by. He made his appearance finally. 
However, he managed to run the canoe on 
top of a rock and upset before reaching the 
landing. 

Off came the cover of a box of Seidlitz 
powders, instantly followed by a churning of 
the waters into seething foam in the immedi- 
ate vicinity. A pail of butter sank deeply into 
the muddy bottom of the lake and never was 

7 6 



ARTFUL ANTAGONISTS 

found. The eggs tangoed away and every- 
thing else became beastly wet and mussed up. 

This dress-rehearsal was enough; Herman 
was told to saw wood and tend camp. For- 
tunately the Angler sent 'cross country for 
Joe, his beloved half-breed, who knew things 
and knew them well. He came quickly and 
then Herman was almost forgiven. 

It had been stated that trout of good size 
had been caught in certain places of the lake. 
These places were most faithfully tried out 
but with indifferent success. At the lower 
end of the larger lake a high, precipitous cliff 
gave every evidence of furnishing an ideal 
hiding spot for the larger specimens of these 
speckled beauties in the markedly deep 
waters bathing its base. 

A number of dead landlocked smelts solved 
the riddle of such poor fishing. Theoreti- 
cally, splendid fish should own property who 
lived in such an exclusive neighborhood as a 
haunt of this description seemed to warrant. 

The Angler firmly believed this to be the 
case if only proper lures could be chosen, 
and the right method hit upon to tempt the 
finny citizens into rising. 

Joe was told to get up very early in the 
morning and paddle about near the cliff. If 

77 



REMINISCENT TALES 

he saw a fin then at once inform the Angler. 
He did as requested and awoke him at sun- 
rise. 

"I see de big fin near cliff" so den we mak a 
ketch much," was his report. 

"All right, Lad; get things ready; we'll take 
a bite and try our luck," came the reply. 

Everything must be in readiness if the fish 
were to be aroused and enticed near the sur- 
face. A good fly rod was selected. 

A Parmachenee Belle and a Brown Hackle 
on a strong leader chosen, then the rod 
placed in the canoe. 

The lures must be uncommon ones in order 
to stir up the stubborn chaps. There were 
two Burtis's rods out for this trial. 

Both had swiveled leaders, two flies and 
tail hooks baited with small minnows. 

The morning was misty, rainy and cold 
enough to make a heavy overcoat a welcome 
burden. A keen, stiff blow swept in from all 
quarters, and with occasional sharper squalls 
made the guidance of the canoe a very diffi- 
cult task. 

The Angler held a rod in each hand. Joe 
circled the canoe. No strikes at all. More 
line was payed out, more circling, gave the 
same result. Evidently the plausible de- 

78 



ARTFUL ANTAGONISTS 

ductions were utterly wrong. Utter disap- 
pointment added its chill to that of the at- 
mosphere. One last try and then if no luck 
— back to camp. 

The other fellows, disgusted with the poor 
fishing and doubting greatly the opinion of 
the Angler, had gone to another lake quite a 
distance away. 

Both lines were then reeled in and small 
sinkers fastened about a foot above the lead- 
ers. Joe paddled very slowly, thus allowing 
good lengths of line to slip from the reels. 

Then sudden vicious and powerful strikes 
came on either side. Deadly earnest ones, 
allowing no time to give the butts or the rods 
to be held securely. 

When the lines were reeled in a little way 
they sped again, bringing courage and joy 
from the music of the reels. 

The Angler never realized before that fish 
could pull so hard or travel so fast. They 
pulled the canoe into deeper water, making 
it hard battling to gain a lee shore again. 

Joe had all he could do; and as for the An- 
gler he had more than enough: somehow that 
heavy overcoat grew heavier and warmer 
each moment. It seemed hours before a fish 
showed the slightest sign of losing strength. 

79 



REMINISCENT TALES 

The strain lessened at last and they could 
be seen turning on their sides. Why the lines 
did not cross or the fish remain hooked — 
instead of breaking away — never will be 
known, but up to date luck lingered. 

The Angler had an impression that it was 
nearly a year before Joe could lend his aid 
and the prize winners brought nearer the 
canoe. 

First, the right-hand rod received their 
united efforts. Three magnificent square- 
tails, appearing well nigh exhausted, were 
plainly visible. 

The Angler secured one, Joe another; 
meantime the middle fish shook himself free. 

The other rod became easier to handle. 
Another trio of fish just as big as their re- 
lations. All of them ought to have been 
landed, but the tail-ender bumped against 
the canoe and vanished. 

The sensations of cold and weariness van- 
ished also. The net would not hold but two 
out of the four vanquished warriors. Their 
weight ranged from four and a half to a little 
over six pounds. Of course — the two clever 
truants who rejoined their loved ones were 
the biggest of them all. 

This battle was an unusual and exciting 
80 



ARTFUL ANTAGONISTS 

one. Six powerful fish, even if handled well, 
offer quite a task. The day passed without 
a chance given to use the fly rod; nevertheless 
the Angler was perfectly satisfied. His 
theory had proven itself to be true. 

The fish were outlined on birch bark and 
later done in pastels, for a like experience 
might never come again, and some record of it 
would always be valuable. 

His companions had returned to camp and 
extended their heartfelt congratulations. 
The next day all of them left for home. 

An assembly of dead soldiers on the porch 
obstructed the view. They deserved a de- 
cent burial, having died in a just cause. 

Herman was chosen to officiate, receiving 
two new and perfectly good dollar bills in 
advance. 

Mrs. Ned was somewhat of a crank on the 
temperance question, and when the family 
arrived the brave and gallant knights held 
the porch, evidently oblivious of her opinions. 

The cabin was never offered again to the 
Angler. That awful Herman had gone to 
town, exchanged the two dollars for vile 
spirits, and then joined a lumber crew. 

Curses on His Head! 
81 



A Wish As Twilight Falls 

Where once the fairy-folk were wont to 
weave by magic arts an unseen web about 
their citadel of delights, a tiny isle, the gem 
of all within enchantment's realm, doth even 
at this day yield evidence that Mother Earth 
did gladly grant each wish of every sprite, 
when touched by wands of gold. 

Amid the snow-clad hills gushed forth 
crystal waters, tumbling in their new-born 
freedom, wafted on the zephyrs, whispers 
from forest and meadow called and joyously 
they leaped in sparkling foam, eager to give 
greeting. 

Down the lonely hillside the brooklet in 
its purity wavered. Splashing in uncer- 
tainty, then gliding onward. Through the 
lowlands it meandered, twining in serpen- 
tine coiling, its waters resting in soft, peaceful 
flowing 'mid banks bedecked with waving 
grasses. 

Flowerettes of loveliness sprang into life 
from its very breath and in thankfulness ex- 
haled exquisite perfumes. Bending bush and 
82 



A WISH AS TWILIGHT FALLS 

dainty fern gave welcome as the refreshing 
waters invaded their hiding places. 

From the summits of adjacent highlands 
other rollicking wanderers sought compan- 
ionship until, broadly expanding, the might- 
ier brook became more sedate and dignified 
as toward Neptunian domains its course con- 
tinued. Gigantic and stern sentinels of 
granite frowned down their displeasure, dis- 
puting the right of way. 

The crystal tide flowed on. Aroused to 
action, in liquid mirth it divided equally its 
hosts, spreading on either side of the grim 
watchers' open, encircling arms and then, 
clasping again, held in its embrace the en- 
chanted isle. 

The smiling rainbow and the sunset gave 
its hue; fleecy clouds and stars of Heaven 
mirrored their gleams and shadows as token 
of their approval of what the gentle stream 
had done. As wild rose petals fold in sleep, 
so fell the purple mantle o'er hill and dale. 

Restless feathered songsters invaded this 
realm and the wee people bade them stay, 
lest the harmonies of woodland lack perfec- 
tion in their absence. 

Years and years have passed into eternity 
since the fairies with their retinue of gnomes 

83 



REMINISCENT TALES 

and nymphs have disappeared, but complete 
and perfect their handiwork remains. As a 
parting gift they bequeathed to mortals this 
mystic masterpiece. The hour that now is 
striking beholds their treasure gems as ra- 
diant as had been their wont in days of yore. 

The fays themselves and their magic castle 
ne'er were seen by human eye, but one who 
came and understood erected a humble shel- 
ter. With him peace lingers, an honored 
guest. 

His wish of the twilight hour is that, when 
life's troubled waters close about him, he 
may sink into eternal sleep on his dearly be- 
loved isle, where the whispering breeze sighs 
its lullaby and wild roses — still the flowers of 
fairyland — bloom. 



84 



When Storms Raged 

Far away in the Maine woods there's an 
old deserted logging road: it is first seen 
starting from the water's edge of a magnifi- 
cent lake, then skirting the hillside in crooked 
bendings disappears from view. 

This was the pathway taken early in the 
morning of a brilliant July day by the Angler 
and his Indian guide. The guide carried the 
canoe and the paddles. The Angler, strung 
about with cooking utensils, followed. The 
rods tied together he held in one hand; the 
grub pail was firmly grasped in the other. 

The climb was an arduous one, but when 
the summit was gained the reward caused 
weariness to be forgotten. Such a dainty, 
laughing, sparkling bit of water met the gaze 
that its existence might be doubted for a 
moment. 

The canoe being launched, it was paddled 
slowly along the shore. At intervals good 
sized trout were taken and they fought well. 
Then it began to grow dark without almost 
any warning. A thunderstorm appeared to be 
near at hand. Curiously, while it was not 

85 



REMINISCENT TALES 

at all cold, it began to snow and snow hard 
instead of raining. 

The trout lost interest in the flies. A 
Sproat hook No. 8 being substituted was 
baited with a small piece of the throat of a 
fish taken earlier. Two boulders of good 
size marked an excellent fishing locality, the 
first fish having been taken near them. 

The first cast was followed by a sharp 
strike at this fish bait. Again and again the 
canoe circled. Each turn brought fine fish. 
Quite a large party of fishermen were in camp 
where the Angler had his headquarters, so 
he fished carefully until a sufficient number 
had been secured that would satisfy all needs. 

All the time the snow fell thick and fast. 
As suddenly as it had begun so the storm 
ceased, and a brilliant sun blazed forth a 
greeting. 

The way back to the landing was equally 
as steep as the upward ascent had been in 
the morning. Securely wrapped into a com- 
pact bundle, the fish were strapped to the 
Angler's back. A strap was then fastened 
about his forehead and attached to this 
bundle, his guide telling him it was the In- 
dian fashion and perfectly correct. 

He may have been right. The Angler 
86 



WHEN STORMS RAGED 

vividly remembers that when once well 
started he could not stop and that the trip 
was made remarkably quick. He fell in a 
heap at the landing and gazed at the sky for 
a long time. 

He really believes that during this run his 
head and neck were lost and only knew he 
had the fish, for the bundle was lying on the 
ground beside him. After some time the 
vanished head and neck pieces returned and 
resumed rightful positions. 

The indisputable proof — he was smoking 
when the guide did appear: The guide 
grunted a compliment regarding his ability 
to make fast time and he entered into no 
argument at all concerning the subject. 

Everyone had enough trout to eat at camp. 
The creel was not questioned, but the hard 
snow-storm was not swallowed as readily 
as the trout. 

^s * * :;■: 

It is a general belief that during a thunder- 
storm fish, particularly trout, rarely if ever 
take a lure. 

Three sportsmen and the Humble Angler 
accompanied by a photographer were far 
away in the wilds of New Brunswick, the 
prime object of such a trip being the possi- 

87 



REMINISCENT TALES 

bility of securing moving pictures of salmon 
fishing and camp scenes, to be shown at the 
Sportsman's show later on. 

The weather had been unbearably hot for 
nearly an entire week. It looked like rain on 
the day when the return trip began and camp 
broken. The skies were overcast. 

At noon they halted for lunch and a rest. 
The provisions were nearly exhausted. A 
small stream quite near the roadway looked 
promising for a mess of trout. 

It slightly rained and began to blow. The 
horses were unhitched and tied to trees. The 
canvas kits were made secure underneath the 
wagon so that they might keep dry, and none 
too soon. 

The storm burst and became a furious 
tempest. Every one of them was drenched 
to the skin in quick time and could get no 
wetter. 

Despite the wind, terrific lightning and 
downpour the Angler and one of the party 
started for the stream. A small pool was 
found that was fairly well protected by heavy 
tree growth. 

Here, just out of the full of the squall, the 
Angler was able to cast a few times and 
caught several trout. 

88 



WHEN STORMS RAGED 

Under such circumstances and knowing 
his companion to be a novice at fly casting, 
he removed the leader and tied on a baited 
hook before handing his rod to him. He then 
told him to toss it gently into the pool. 

The piece of a throat bait proved an en- 
ticing lure. His pupil caught enough of the 
speckled beauties to make a good meal for 
all of them. 

The storm still raged on, but most fortu- 
nately one of the guides discovered a camp, 
where they had an opportunity to change 
their clothes, dry their wet duds and cook 
the fish. 

Besides proving conclusively that the old 
belief did not hold true at all times and 
places, they had a very jolly time and did not 
mind getting damp once more before they 
made the village. 



89 



Above and Below 

The St. Croix River flows between St. 
Stephens, Canada, and Calais, Maine. 
Thrown across the stream from the mill 
properties there is a staunch and well con- 
structed dam. 

Within the huge mills, on the English side, 
the relentless jaws of mechanical demons 
seize and devour thousands and thousands 
of royal logs, once kings of the forest. 

As each victim is fashioned into proper 
shape for building purposes the cruel wheels 
shriek their joy. 

Like snowflakes of the storm, saw-dust in 
whirring showers fill the air and falling into 
the waters impart to them the tinge of their 
own lifeblood. 

In its obscured, smoothed pathway of prog- 
ress, this silent stream smashes into rapids 
in the basin below, as rolling in unbroken 
volume over the dam it pours its sheet of 
waters. 

Beyond the ceaseless din of saw and log, 
quite far above the dam — barrels and barrels 
of choice vintages— hogsheads, casks, and 
90 



ABOVE AND BELOW 

cases of the elixir of life were huddled to- 
gether in the extremely damp cellars of dingy 
warehouses on the Canadian banks of the 
old St. Croix. 

These weighted and sunken submarine 
hosts were placed in readiness to be trans- 
ported at night to American soil. 

The various rope ends remaining after each 
carrier had been securely bound, were to be 
found in similar and just as wet cellars of 
Yankeeland, just 'cross the way — strange 
though it might have been. 

A change of location — that's all — but a 
demonstrable change. In those days of se- 
lective sobriety the most ardent dipsomaniac 
could obtain enough unadulterated liquid 
delight to ensure absolute satisfaction. 

In the playground that the river pro- 
vided — below the dam — each year the Silver 
Horde rested for a brief time. They were 
splendid Salmon too, and as valiant in battle 
as the Knights of the Round Table in days 
of long ago. 

Diplomatically speaking, these soldiers of 
fortune were absolutely nonpartisan, show- 
ing no partiality for either side. 

America and England divided equally the 
honor of entertaining them as their guests. 

9i 



REMINISCENT TALES 

When Al. French was the game warden at 
Calais, he urged the Humble Angler most 
cordially to visit him and try the Salmon 
fishing. The Angler accepted and at the 
earliest possible hour arrived in Calais. 
French was an excellent fisherman and 
guide. 

The pools in this river are the quiet places 
just back of goodly sized rocks that jut their 
heads above the surface. 

Before noon of the next day the Angler 
had made a kill of two splendid Salmon. A 
third struck, but before he was ready for the 
gaff the bite of the line caught on a long spike 
driven through the center of a piece of timber 
that had floated directly on the line, thus 
giving him a chance to leap and break away. 
While ornamental, the Silver Doctor was not 
to his liking. 

It is considered most excellent luck to 
take two Salmon within a few hours. The 
news of this catch spread rapidly among the 
townfolk of Calais. The Angler had been 
noticed by many people, en route to a studio 
where his trophies were to be photographed. 

That afternoon later on, French and him- 
self sought the river again. This time an- 
other skiff was anchored quite a little dis- 
92 



ABOVE AND BELOW 

tance below them. Another sportsman 
wished to try his luck; he had a guide with 
him. It was difficult to hear pla nly on ac- 
count of the racket that the river makes and 
the noise that the mills throw to the winds. 

The Angler had made a long cast. Very 
suddenly the skiff of the new comer over- 
turned and both of its occupants were thrown 
into the river. At this moment the Angler 
struck a fish — as he supposed — his line began 
to run out rapidly. No leap of a fish came; 
yet he felt the heavy tug of something strange 
and weighty. 

The floundering fisherman appeared to be 
splashing about in a strenuous and un- 
necessary manner. Evidently he was try- 
ing to yell important information, but only 
a cuss word could be distinguished now 
and then. French sensed that something 
must be radically wrong and asked the An- 
gler to stop fishing and to reel in as fast as 
he could. Meantime he cast the skiff free. 
The Angler did the best he could to follow 
instructions. 

The profane gentleman had succeeded in 
reaching a rock, where he was deeply engaged 
in performing a minor surgical operation on 
his trousers and eclipsing any sailor or par- 

93 



REMINISCENT TALES 

rot that ever lived in his vocabulary of aptly 
chosen swear words. 

While the porpoise act exhibition held the 
stage a "popham" fly had floated near and 
embedded itself in his trousers. The Angler 
had struck hard and securely. Apologies 
were exchanged, explanations made, and 
peace returned even to the troubled waters. 
The fishing ended. 

The next morning a local paper contained 
a bright article concerning this incident and 
stated the weight of this HE fish to be 187 
pounds. 

ABOVE the dam, a smuggler was caught — 
now and then. 

BELOW the dam, many a fine salmon was 
killed — now and then. 

Gone are the salmon. 
Gone the good booze. 

The old St. Croix — sedately flows on and 
on. 



94 



Surprises 

Newfoundland offers much that is inter- 
esting, unique and uncommon to its visitors. 
The customs and beliefs of the early settlers 
are followed religiously, even to minute de- 
tails, at the present day. 

Stern and rugged natural backgrounds 
make the picture, in its entirety, one of se- 
verity rather than fascinating beauty. Giant 
rocks frown down upon seething, foaming 
masses of spray crashed by the billows of an 
angry sea against their solid foundations. 

The coast is black and bare; stunted tree 
growth dots the landscape that cries aloud 
in its barren loneliness. Winds that shriek; 
storms that terrify; dense fogs that veil 
deeply are but appropriate framings. Huge 
cliffs and immense sandbanks add a martial 
aspect and tone. If on this very soil the War 
God had once builded his castle, it would not 
have been out of keeping. 

That its people who pass their existence on 
this island have become reserved and silent 
may depend much upon the unseen influences 
— always surrounding, always dominating 

95 



REMINISCENT TALES 

— from the cradle to the grave. Tragedies 
of a capricious ocean o'ershadow all else. 
The goddess of Mirth ne'er tarried here. 

This dreadful monotony is only relieved by 
the picturesque harbors. Among and on the 
sides of the broadened stone formations that 
guard the entrances to these restful monads of 
a vast wilderness, queer fishing shacks are ob- 
served, scattered here and there or often safe 
and secure, several are huddled together in a 
protected corner. Resplendent in coloring, 
high built dories are anchored in quiet waters 
or pulled well up on the sands. Drying on 
Ferris-like wooden wheels, huge fishing nets 
add both a pleasing and ornamental effect. 
Beyond the sandy beaches glimpses reveal 
the well-kept homes of the fisher folk. 

All hamlets are built alike and look alike. 
Each domicile has a tiny garden of its own. 
Each garden is surrounded by a fence. These 
fences charm and fascinate. They excel the 
stockades of the days when Indian warfare 
existed, in their strength and general appear- 
ance. 

Such gates — Ye GODS — such gates! Mas- 
sive; stupendous; solid. Absolutely barring an 
entrance to the agricultural delights within. 
No earthly power can destroy them. Per- 

96 



SURPRISES 

haps they might serve a better purpose if 
they became a part of the armament em- 
ployed by safe deposit vaults. The reason 
why such fences and why such gates exist 
no one knows; gentle-eyed kine are the only 
wild beasts about, but 'tis so because 'tis so, 
and this is the only perfectly clear explana- 
tion. 

The people of Newfoundland are thrifty, 
taciturn and modest. Their simple homes 
are kept immaculate. 

Surprise No. i arises, de novo, from the bil- 
lows themselves. Seated in one of the dories, 
bobbing up and down on the waters, the 
smallest flies, cast on curling crests, are 
seized by — you will not believe it — seized 
voraciously by trout; real, honest, true brook 
trout. Hundreds of them, too. Each one 
quick as a flash of lightning and agile as a 
hawk. 

Each year they follow the salmon up the 
rivers during the spawning season. Like a 
real Lothario they flirt with the tides and 
linger until the silver sheen bestowed by 
the ocean is lost and the many hued spots 
return. 

Surprise No. 1 — the color of their flesh is 
blood-red; not pink or reddish, but an abso- 

97 



REMINISCENT TALES 

lute blood-red. Their sojourn in the sea has 
endowed them with extra agility and keener 
attributes. A much more delicious flavor 
to the flesh has come from the change in 
foods. 

Crab River, about twelve miles in length, 
empties into the ocean, where the water is 
swift and deep, through a narrowed gap. The 
three principal pools are the Red, the White 
and the Gray. Peculiar colorings of the clays 
are marked distinctly, and the names be- 
stowed on the cliffs depend upon the most 
pronounced hue of the soil out of which they 
are constructed. 

At the base of these high cliff's the river 
forms basins or pools of goodly size and bear 
the same cognomens. Lesser pools and ex- 
cellent fishing places are scattered about 
along the stream. The tree growth in this 
section is much more luxuriant, being well 
protected. 

On a morning after the rainfall of only a 
few hours, surprise No. 3 awaits. Where 
but yesterday a placid stream flowed 
smoothly on, a fierce torrent booms its power. 
It is impossible to fish at all in the large pools, 
owing to the increased amount of water. 
The small pools are not visible. Where one 
98 



SURPRISES 

had walked along the banks the overflow had 
become knee deep. 

The length is stated as being twelve miles. 
Double surprises, Nos. 4 and 5. The truth 
has been hidden and deeply hidden; it is 
nearer twelve hundred miles and long ones at 
that. You expected to see strips of sandy 
shore at least. Nothing of the kind. You 
walk on, walk over, fall down upon, hit, scrape, 
and curse — the most marvelous collection in 
the universe of — pebbles, stones, rocks, boul- 
ders, and Giant Causeways to be entangled 
with on terra firma. 

The fishing for salmon and the big "salt- 
ers" is simply glorious sport and well repays 
for all annoyances, labor and hardships. As 
the waters are wonderfully clear, small flies 
should be used. 

One morning, equipped with an ordinary 
trout rod and tackle, the Angler wished to 
ascertain what might be accomplished by 
using a No. 12 fly. A location was chosen 
where fair sized trout had often been taken, 
simply a good trout ground and not a pool 
or anything approaching one. Surprise No. 
6 hovered in the air. When a cast was made 
a goodly salmon flashed in beauty in his up- 
ward leap, then speeded up stream. That 

99 



REMINISCENT TALES 

rider of the rapids sprang skyward seven 
times. Twice he left but an inch or two on 
the line after rapid runs. This intense but 
enjoyable suspense lasted in reality just forty- 
eight minutes. To the Angler it seemed 
hours. Both the victor and the vanquished 
fighter were completely tired out when the 
contest ended. 

Other surprises awaited. The Angler sur- 
prised the silent 6}4 feet tall child of the sea 
when with stick and string, as Albert desig- 
nated his tackle, he caught fifty-seven fine 
cod fish. 

The conductor of the narrow-gauge rail- 
way train surprised all of them. The train 
was only three hours late. Doffing his cap 
he approached and apologized for being so 
tardy, then invited them to the dining car 
and had the steward serve delicious sand- 
wiches and Bass's ale. A table was ar- 
ranged for card playing; then he said, "You 
chaps want to smoke, I know, so go ahead, for 
no one will disturb you." 

The Inspector asked if the trip had been a 
pleasant one while he chalked the luggage 
without requesting to have it opened. He 
handed $15.00 to the Angler, this being the 
amount of a deposit for the rods when start- 
100 



SURPRISES 

ing for Crab's River. At the time he asked 
the Angler if he thought his tackle was 
worth as much as that. There being three 
salmon rods, four fly rods, two trolling rods, 
one tarpon rod, reels, flies, lines and a lot 
more stuff, the Angler replied "yes." 

Last surprise of all. The good and kind 
Inspector had a package that he asked the 
Angler to accept with his compliments, say- 
ing, "It will prevent sea-sickness and do you 
lots of good." And it did. 

May you all be able to visit Newfoundland! 



IOI 



An Indian Legend 

The Humble Angler passed his vacation 
days for many years at Grand Lake, Maine. 
A pleasant friendship followed between the 
Indian guide and himself. Sabattis grew 
more communicative, and when in the 
proper mood and atmosphere told him sto- 
ries and legends of his people. The following 
narrative is selected out of a goodly number, 
as its setting is familiar to many sportsmen. 

Night's mantle had begun to fall o'er the 
quivering waters of Grand Lake. A glorious 
day had bestowed more than an excellent 
creel; and belated on this account, it had 
grown quite dark before they embarked in 
the birch bark canoe, homeward bound. The 
stars began to gleam. The restless cries of 
loons, the hoot of owls, the gentle rippling 
of waters, and the soft swish of blade were 
woven into one of Nature's lullabies. 

Save in outline, Sabattis could hardly be 
discerned. The magnetic influences of the 
hour welded themselves into a swinging 
song expressed in spoken words, soft and low, 
that kept the paddle's cadence. 
1 02 



AN INDIAN LEGEND 

"Wus long time 'go my grand-dad's dad 
he tell my granddad, my granddad he tell my 
old dad, an' he tell me, an' my dad he heap 
old man when he tell. 

"Way down dis big, big lake dere's little 
island. She much more big long time 'go 
dan she am now. Good Indian he lived dere 
in wig-wam, had squaw an' three papoose. 
He great hunter. He beaver know. He trap 
lot, big beaver king. 

"Some day he no hunt. Stay home, make 
garden, plant much. Keepa cow, keepa hoss, 
keepa pig. One day he work way off in field. 
Squaw she 'tend papoose in wig-wam. Down 
lake cum floatin' big tree, much branch, 
much leaf, on him. 

"He float slow. He cuma nearer an' nearer 
where landin' was. You look at tree — you 
see nuthin'. Your eye he wrong. You look 
sharp — you see. Leaves dey cover up pretty 
good. More half dozen bad Indians dere. 
All painted. War paint. On war path, 
'udder tribe 'nudder men, bad men, steal, 
kill, no good. No see 'tall, keep still. 

"All time keep pushin', push big tree make 
him go island. Keep still all time. Den big 
tree he cum 'shore. He stay dere — bad In- 
dian he make no noise, just wait. All sudden 
103 



REMINISCENT TALES 

give war whoop run up wig-wam kill squaw, 
kill papoose, set fire all 'round fore Beaver 
King cum, den when he run down, ketch 
quick. 

"Too much him fight, he no tomahawk, 
no knife, no nuttin'. Tie him up, tie him 
tight, take 'way, wait on shore. Great big 
canoe she cum 'cross lake, den all get in. 
Throw Beaver King in too. Paddle like 
Hell, run way 'fore good braves see. Nudder 
tribe all bad men live way off. 

"Sometime cum down lake steal much, 
much kill, much burn, much scalp get. Some- 
time good brave he ketch him, den big fight. 
Good brave he better fight dan bad brave. 
Bad brave he no get home a'tall. All dead, 
no matter wait, wait long time cum some 
more. Dis time bad brave no ketched, take 
Beaver King way off in woods. 

"Den snow he cum an' cold he freeze up 
water all round an' big hungry he cum too. 
Game he gone. Well by an' by get to own 
camp. Udder braves no home all gone hunt. 
Nuthin' left to eat. Big Chief stay in wig- 
wam, he old, old man. Squaw, she left; 
papoose, he left; no dog left, dog he all eat 
up long time. 

"Big Chief glad see Beaver King, get heap 
104 



AN INDIAN LEGEND 

glad — Big Chief he say show beaver kill, me 
no kill you, me make big man in tribe an' 
me have you live here all time — Beaver King 
he say he do but he no tell all he tink — not 
much. 

"Beaver King told Big Chief he no do 
'cept he free, den he go hunt. He no forget 
he wait, he watch much. Next day he ask 
chief give sharp tomahawk den go beaver 
kill, much he say he kill. All braves he want 
go too, for much food get right way. 

"Big Chief he tink all right now, so tell 
go. Beaver King he go an' all udder braves 
go too. Find big big river. He froze hard, 
he froze thick too. 

"Beaver King he cut big hole great big 
hole in ice. He tell one brave stay here 
watch out he beaver call, den put head way 
down hole an' listen long time. When hear 
beaver come, wait 'ill he stick head way out 
den kill. 

"Beaver King take nudder brave do same 
ting. No one see udder one — too far 'way. 
When braves all fixed up, Beaver King he go 
see first man, den he puts head in hole — make 
funny noise — call beaver. Den say listen 
an ' hear beaver come. Man he puts head in 
hole. 

105 



REMINISCENT TALES 

"Beaver King, he strike hard he strike 
quick. He kill, he scalp quick, den go next 
man do same ting. By an' by bad braves all 
dead. Beaver King he tie up scalps, kill two 
fat beaver, den put beaver on back go back 
see chief. 

"Give Chief beaver tell all braves cum soon 
now, plenty beaver. Big Chief he glad, tell 
squaws cook right 'way. Tell Beaver King 
he great hunter — give present he go get in 
v/ig-wam. Beaver King he go too, hit chief 
in head, tie up to tree, tie much tight, den 
make fire, damn hot fire. 

"Big Chief he wake up, he no move, too 
hard he tied up. Beaver King he take toma- 
hawk cut arm off say dat's for squaw, den 
he cut off udder arm — dat's for papoose. 
Beaver King he make fire hotter, watch Big 
Chief all burn up say all right now. Squaws 
yell like devil run way no one cum no more. 

"Beaver King he make bundle tie up scalps 
put on back, go get food he want, den 
go way all 'lone over big old mountin's. 

"When good braves found wig-wam all 
burnt up an' squaw an' papoose all dead an' 
Beaver King he no dere no more make big 
noise an' big big mourn. 

"Old, old woman, she mighty old, more old 
1 06 



AN INDIAN LEGEND 

hundred years, she no give up 'tall, she wait, 
she look, she listen all time. One day she 
tell people Beaver King he cum she hear foot- 
steps way way off. People laff, shake heads 
much, but old woman she right, she know all 
right. 

"Beaver King he cum. He sick man too. 
He tell people 'bout tings, show big lot scalps, 
den he near die. 

"Old woman she know lot, she make well 
pretty quick — she was great old gal, dat old 
woman. 

"Good Chief he awful old too, he get sick 
he die, he live too much long, den all tribe 
have heap big war dance. Make Beaver 
King great Chief. He mighty good chief too, 
make safe all time, make dis tribe — my tribe 
— great strong people. Never no more bad 
tribe cum 'cross Grand Lake. 

"My dad he Chief now, he old man too. 
When he die — me — Sabattis — be Big Chief. 
Tomorrow show place where Beaver King he 
live. Most gone now, nudder year all gone." 

The landing was made. Sabattis carried 
the kill of the day to the cabin and disap- 
peared into the darkness. 



107 



The Close of Day— Lake Katahdin 

The shadows now are purpling 

The crest of distant hills; 
The Crimson God is wearied, 

But Evening's quiet thrills. 

The Loons begin their calling; 

The Owl his challenge sends; 
The Deer in coves are feeding, 

Where the long lake-shore bends. 

Upon its burnished surface, 
The tall pines seem to glow, 

As on that limpid mirror, 
Their outlines ebb and flow. 

Birches and brush reflecting, 

A shore seems not to be, 
And fiery clouds, mirage-like, 

Change hues while yet they flee. 

A serenade is warbled 

By tiny songster true; 
And at a touch of twilight, 

Dense grows the vein of blue. 
108 



THE CLOSE OF DAY 

Upon the mountain summit, 
There lingers yet a flame — 

The kiss of sunset's parting — 
How soft from Heaven, came! 



109 



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wisdom of forty years of angling, but also to draw upon the ex- 
perience of well-known angling experts. A valuable book for both 
the old-timer and the amateur. Elaborately illustrated. Large 12mo. 
Silk Cloth. Net, $3.00. 

THE COMPLEAT ANGLER. By Izaak Walton 

This "Fisherman's encyclopedia of Happiness" bids fair to become 
the standard exquisite edition of Walton's great Classic. Sixteen 
full-page illustrations in color by James H. Thorpe. Handsomely 
bound. Large 4to. Cloth. Net, $3.50. Three-fourths Turkey Mo- 
rocco. Net, $15.00. 



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